Sometimes I wish I knew the girls I write about.

Believing God speaks to her in riddles,
                         She feels most alive
when hanging out of windows.
                         A fearless free faller
with an adventurers heart,
                 and innocent New York eyes.
Stubborn, beautiful,
                  and impossible to snuff out-
Forgive her, sweet father,
                              for she has sinned.
It's been three long years
                       since her last confession.
This oracle spends her nights
                                      on dance floors,
in the arms of black winged angels.


She's a garden in the back alley
of churches—rose petal romance
and 500 slices of crazy.